


Let The World Pass By

by masterroadtripper



Series: Telling The Truth [1]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Autism Spectrum Disorder, Autistic Evan Hansen, Gender Dysphoria, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Misgendering, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Harm, Social Anxiety, Trans Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), Trans Male Character, Transphobia, Treebros, Underage Smoking, deadnaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:01:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22057441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masterroadtripper/pseuds/masterroadtripper
Summary: Connor and Evan, two teens from opposite sides of the tracks, meet at school in their junior year and slowly but surely become friends.Or, what if Evan was telling the truth and he and Connor were actually friends?  How they met and became friends.
Relationships: Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy
Series: Telling The Truth [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1595260
Comments: 17
Kudos: 129





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I will post TWs at the beginning of each chapter (if any apply) just incase any tags change or I've missed something. 
> 
> TWs:  
> \- self-harm  
> \- potential ED  
> \- physical/verbal abuse  
> \- misgendering/deadnaming

**Connor** hadn’t set his alarm. He didn’t care if he woke up late for school. The later he woke up, the less likely it would be that he wouldn’t have to go. But he still heard Zoe’s alarm going off in her room through the paper-thin wall separating their sleeping areas. Leave it to Zoe to ruin his perfectly thought out plan.

Maybe he could pretend to have not heard. Which was a decent strategy for the most part, unless mom decided to make dad come upstairs and wake him up. That would result in either an argument or yet another bruise he’d have to find a way to cover-up and that was just not a suitable plan. Too many loose ends. Too many opportunities for lines of questioning he simply did not want to engage in. Connor was fairly certain that the school was on their scent. He was pretty sure that his father was one more ill-conceived rage fit away from a report being made to Child and Family Services. Then he and Zoe would be up shit creek without a paddle. As much as he hated his family and his school, he didn’t want to get moved or get separated from Zoe with just two years left of high school. As crazy as Zoe and his mother were, he wouldn’t cause them that kind of pain if he could avoid it.

Hauling himself out of bed, Connor winced as his stomach and forearms protested in pain. Oh yeah. That. He’d probably busted up all the clots that had formed last night and he was going to ruin another sleep shirt. Whatever. It would get washed and the dark blood colour would fade before he was questioned about it. He’d just throw it into the wash a couple of times and let the colours blend and fade. There was a reason he wore dark grey and black most days. It was planned. Everything was planned.

Opening the door to his room, Connor peaked his head out into the hallway and saw that his parent’s room at the end of the hall had its door open, the blinds open and the lights off. Mom and dad were in the kitchen already, he guessed. Next door, Zoe’s light was already on and he could hear her moving around inside. Well. Welcome to another school year. Yet another waste of a year.

Quickly grabbing a handful of clothes, boxers and a tee-shirt - hopefully clean, jeans - likely not clean, his binder - still slightly damp from washing it last night, and his grey hoodie - definitely not clean, Connor scooted across the hall to the washroom to change and clean himself up a little. He was fine with tarnishing his clothes, but his binder, that had cost him fifty bucks and couldn’t easily get a new one if he wrecked this one, so he needed to make sure he took care of it as if it was his baby.

Turning the dimmer switch in the bathroom on as little as possible to just barely see outlines, Connor tossed his pile of collected clothes onto the floor, tied his hair into a bun at the back of his and turned the shower on. He wasn’t planning on actually having a shower, per se, but he needed running water to wash with and the shower had more moving space that the sink did. He wasn’t stupid. This wasn’t the first time he’d done this. It may as well have been a practiced art by now. If it was an Olympic sport, Connor would win gold. He was sure of that.

The lukewarm water splashed the cuffs of his red sleep pants and Connor tested the temperature to make sure it wouldn’t sting any more than completely necessary. He found that if he could get the water as close to his own body temperature, it was the least painful. Once satisfied with the water temperature, he reached out and grabbed the baby shampoo that was sitting in the shower caddy. Aside from the smell of the shampoo - which Connor loved for no other reason than it reminded him of his grandparent’s house - it barely stung the open wounds and yet still cleaned. Luckily, his mother kept buying more for him just before he ran out and never questioned why he refused to use the same shampoo as Zoe.

Scrubbing down his left forearm, he used his shoulder to move some of his long, knotted hair away from his face before it caused him to sneeze. Soon, the water running down the drain turned from brown to red to pink to clear. Satisfied that he wasn’t going to ruin his binder, Connor turned off the water and stood up from the basin. Climbing out of the tub, Connor dried his arm off on his sleep shirt. He sure as hell wasn’t going to risk ruining one of the white towels for something as stupid as this.

Gently pulling up the hem of the dark grey sleep shirt, Connor braced himself to see the mess on his lower abdomen. Opening one eye and then the other, he realized it wasn’t actually as bad as he’d thought. The six new red and puffy lines weren’t deep and had done more damage to the shirt than they explicably should have. Thankfully his binder was just the type that covered the bottom of his ribs and not down to his hips, but a little cleaning never hurt anyone.

Leaning over the sink, Connor ran some water and dabbed the long sleeve of his shirt into it. Using it as a washcloth, he rubbed his stomach clean - or as clean as it would get - before letting the material fall and staring at himself in the mirror.

God, he looked like a train wreck. His hair, while still tied into a half-assed bun, was wavy and knotted looking. It was greasy, and a couple of shades darker than it should have been. That’s what he gets for not having a real shower in a few days. There were dark bags under his eyes, making his face look even more hollow and thinner than usual. He looked like a zombie. He looked like shit and yet Connor just couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Next, he pulled the material of his sleep shirt away from his neck, observing a fading bruise on his collarbone. Yet another token from his father. At least it was fading and fast. His sweater would cover it up, but the shirt he’d chosen wouldn’t. Hopefully, the school wouldn’t be too hot today.

Well. No time like the present and if Connor was right, Zoe would likely want a turn in the bathroom before heading down to breakfast. The last thing he wanted was for her to see him shirtless. Or in any state of dress other than complete. Every article of clothing was necessary to maintain his carefully crafted facade and thus needed to be perfect to work.

Just as he was in the middle of zipping up his hoodie, Connor heard a knock on the bathroom door. Zoe. Good timing. Thankfully, she didn’t just barge in like she used to do - they had standards of privacy nowadays with each other - but he also didn’t want her getting inpatient and causing a racket. Because racket meant fighting and fighting meant dad and dad meant CFS and…nothing good came out of causing a racket so Connor picked up his pyjamas and unlocked the bathroom door.

“Morning Cora,” Zoe grumbled, “finally my turn?”

“Fuck off,” Connor muttered, gritting his teeth against the cursed name bouncing around in his skull but he just kept walking. Zoe may have said something in reply, may not have. Regardless, it fell on selectively deaf ears as Connor closed the door to his bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs:  
> \- anxiety  
> \- likely an ED as well  
> \- throwing up

**Evan** hadn’t gotten much sleep that night. But who would? It was the night before the first day of school. He couldn’t remember any night before the first day of school in recorded history that he actually slept soundly. Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember a night in recorded history, regardless of the events of the next day, that he had slept soundly. That was probably a problem. That was definitely a problem. He should definitely tell his mom or Dr. Sherman. But that required opening his mouth and forcing the words out, a skill he was not acquainted with very well.

Regardless, the alarm on his phone was going off and doing nothing would not stop the infernal noise, so he rolled over to turn it off. But as he rolled, his stomach churned - now full of spit, snot and bile from crying and having anxiety attacks all night - and he forgot that the reason he was laying on his back was because that was the only position he could stay where he didn’t immediately feel like throwing up. It was still a nauseating position, for sure, but it was much much better than laying on either side or on his stomach. Now that the contents of his stomach shifted, Evan knew that he had to get up and go to the bathroom _right now or else_.

Continuing his roll out of bed, Evan managed to get tangled in his sheets and rip them free from his bed, following him down onto the floor. Without free legs, he couldn’t stand up all the way but _he was going to throw up everywhere if he didn’t do something soon_. Making a decision, Evan grabbed the small garbage can tucked halfway under his bed and proceeded to void all contents of his stomach into it.

He did it about three more times until he was just dry-heaving air and was finally convinced he was not going to keep actually throwing up. Sitting back against his bed, Evan let himself breathe. Hopefully, mom hadn’t heard. She had worked late again yesterday and was probably exhausted. She needed as much sleep as she could get and didn’t need to be woken by Evan puking his guts out because of his brains’ incredible inability to shut up. Once convinced that mom hadn’t heard him, Evan began the process of removing himself from his tangle of blankets. He didn’t realize he’d gotten himself so trapped throughout the night or how his body hadn’t woken him in a panic that he was so confined. But now he was here, sitting next to a garbage can full of vomit and tangled like a fish.

Throwing his sheets back onto his bed in frustration, Evan felt his heart rate ratcheting up little by little. Why was he freaking out right now? He was free from his sheets, there was nothing in his stomach, nothing was wrong. _It's the first day of school_ the little voice said from inside his skull. Right. That. Cool.

He could do this. No, he couldn’t. He really couldn’t.

The last time he’d seen any of his classmates was at field day on the last day of school when he’d gotten sent to the nurse’s office while he was mid-anxiety-attack because the school idiots that liked picking on him decided to shove him into a teacher’s car in the parking lot. Good way for everyone to remember him. The idiot kid who freaked out. How many days was it until he graduated again? 365 plus roughly another 303 give or take. He could last 668 days. Besides, not all of those were at school. That included next summer break, winter break, spring break and all the weekends in between.

He could do this. No, he couldn’t.

Even though they’d gone into the school on orientation day to find all of Evans’s classes and meet all his teachers before the year even started, Evan wasn’t convinced it was going to help one little bit. Mom had done all the talking to the teachers the entire time, and he’d barely managed to get a single word out of his mouth and look them in the eyes. They probably just thought he was just some other mentally handicapped kid that they’d have to make accommodations for all semester and end up resenting him for it. That’s how it’d gone every other year anyway.

Opening his closet door, Evan looked through his meagre collection of shirts and pants, trying to decide what he was going to wear. It wasn’t much of a choice, really. He’d have to bring his pair of sweatpants to school to use as a gym strip because everyone has to take physical education and that really only left him with two other choices. He had three pairs of beige khakis and one pair of jeans - not counting the singular pair of dress pants that his mom had bought for him years ago and, ridiculously, still fit him. His shirt selection wasn’t much better either and most of them were blue or shades of blue. Yes, he liked blue and considered it his comfort colour, but it made choosing clothes exceedingly difficult. How did he know why the type of blue shirt was appropriate on the first day of school? A blue flannel? A blue polo? A blue tee-shirt? Too formal? Not formal enough? He needed to make a good impression. He needed to try at least to make friends. He needed to have a good year. It sure wasn’t starting off that way.

Evan ended up choosing his only pair of jeans and a dark blue tee-shirt. It was not the best combination he could have come up with, but he figured it was the right balance between walking into school in his pyjamas - which he had done before - and wearing something too nice. He liked his jeans. They were comfy. They should probably be thrown out they were so threadbare but he liked them and right now, they couldn’t afford any new clothes.

Moving his way silently through the small apartment, Evan made his way to the bathroom and started the process of washing out his mouth from the vomit, followed by washing his hands and brushing his teeth. Then he shaved, very carefully, followed by washing his hands and brushing his teeth again. Lastly, Evan washed his face, washed his hands one last time and made his way back across the hall.

His backpack, sitting unpacked at the foot of his bed, was his next task of the morning. So far, aside from throwing up in his garbage can - which he still had yet to deal with - he was doing not too bad. From his desk, Evan grabbed his two pencil kits - one kit for pens, the other for pencils. He hated when graphite chips got on his pens, so they were kept apart for the sake of his own sanity. Then, his notebooks were stuffed in behind the pencil kits followed by his old, chunky laptop.

Grabbing the bag, Evan crept back into the hall and made his way to the kitchen. His mother hadn’t made him lunch the night before - she was at work - but he did spy a 10$ bill on the counter with a note that read “lunch money” on top. He cracked a smile and folded it into third and shoved it into his pocket. From the dishwasher, he pulled out his water bottle and filled it just below the rim.

Then he heard a horn honk. Jared. Of course. Evan looked towards the clock on the wall, still shaded different colours from when he was a kid. Taking a deep breath, Evan shouldered his backpack and looked back into the apartment. Mom wasn’t awake yet to wish him a good day. He wasn’t terribly surprised. Well. Better late than never. Grabbing his keys and phone, he shoved his feet into his sneakers and braced for another terrible first day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye 2019, hello 2020! Have a safe New Year everyone!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs:  
> \- anxiety/panic attack

The whistle was a shrill noise, but Connor was reasonably certain that it shouldn’t have caused the tiny blond boy to scream like he did.

It was the fourth-hour gym block and technically class hadn’t even started yet. Or, the whistle signalled that the football coach turned gym teacher was ready for class to start. Gym class was the single worst hour of Connor’s life. First, it started with the fact that if you didn’t change into a school-branded-gym-strip, you’d get detention. So, Connor found himself changing out of his dark coloured clothes into a pair of black shorts and a long-sleeved burgundy gym shirt in the washroom in the science wing. It was on the opposite side of the school from the gym because if you got caught changing for gym in an area that was not the changerooms, that was also detention. The washroom stunk like urine and formaldehyde and when you flushed the toilet in the thirds stall, it shook so hard that there was no longer any drywall behind it.

Unzipping his hoodie, Connor pulled it off and selectively made sure that he didn’t look down. He’d changed out of his binder between the second and third periods because it was starting to hurt again, so that was one less item to switch out in the tiny bathroom stall. Pulling off his shirt, Connor dug through his gym bag to find the burgundy school shirt - which was thankfully one of the long-sleeved versions for during the winter - and tugged it over his head. Once the material, which was that horrible kind that got ridiculously statically charged whenever you did any physical activity, settled around his hips Connor let out his breath. Next was changing out of jeans into the black shorts and that sucked a hell of a lot less.

Sneaking through the halls of the school, Connor made it back to the gym unquestioned and snuck in before any of the teachers or his classmates noticed his absence. Though, Connor was fairly sure that his absence wouldn’t be noticed anyway unless it was to get him a detention slip. He was invisible and sometimes, that was a much better option.

From across the gym, Connor saw Katherine, his friend. Well, former friend, he assumed. After throwing a textbook at her head on the second last day of the last school year in a rage, they hadn’t sent a single text to each other all summer. They weren’t friends anymore, it wasn’t really even a question. He officially had no friends.

There was a group of guys playing with a basketball at one hoop, a couple of groups of people standing around and talking, probably catching up with each other about what they did all summer and one tiny little blond kid standing in the corner looking very terrified. Connor snorted to himself. How was that kid going to survive a game of dodgeball if he couldn’t keep himself together in a setting like this?

Then the coach blew the whistle, the kid screamed, a couple of people laughed and the kid ran out of the gym with his hands over his ears. See, Connor realized that he had a little bit of a reputation around the school, but he still had enough of a heart to recognize when someone had just been scared shitless. And, well, no one was going after the blond boy to check to see if he was going to be okay and that was just not okay.

Without a care whether or not he was going to get in trouble, Connor ran out of the gym after the blond boy. He had long legs and was likely in slightly better shape than the blond boy and Connor managed to catch up to him just as he ducked into the men's washroom just around the corner from the gym. Swallowing hard and looking around to make sure the hall was empty, Connor pushed open the quickly closing door and followed him in. Connor didn’t make it more than three steps before he managed to trip over the blond boy, having collapsed to the ground just inside the door.

What the actual fuck? It was just a whistle blast. Still, he was in distress and regardless of why it had started, Connor had gotten himself into this mess and wouldn’t leave it until he could make sure the blond kid would be fine. Yeah, he’d thrown printers, textbooks, hammers, toys, bricks and anything else he could get his hands on at a whole range of people before, but that didn’t mean he hated them. They just pissed him off. He wasn't a bad person.

Going down on one knee, Connor looked at the blond boy a little more. He was breathing hard, still had his hands over his ears, and was shaking. His blond hair was falling into his eyes and Connor couldn’t tell if he was crying or not, but his eyes were definitely closed shut very tight.

“Hey,” Connor said quietly, trying to get his attention. It didn’t work, so Connor reached out and put a hand on his knee.

“D-d-d-don’t don’t don’t t-t-touch m-me,” blondie managed to force out and Connor immediately snapped his hand back. At least the boy took his hands away from his ears though, so maybe he could try to get through to him.

“Not touching,” Connor said quickly and the boy started pulling at his burgundy gym shirt as if the material was horribly offensive to him. He was wearing the tee-shirt version of their gym strip and a pair of black sweatpants.

“You okay?” Connor asked, watching the boy continue to pull at the shirt and breathe erratically. He was going to pass out if he kept this up.

“N-n-n-n-no. Nonononononotreallynotreally,” he replied, going from stuttering to speed talking at a mile a minute, “Thisshirtfeelsabsolutelyhorribleandthewhistlewassoloudandtherewassomanypeopleinthere.”

“Wanna go to your locker and get a different shirt?” Connor suggested as if it was the most obvious solution in the world. Maybe to him, it was a simple solution, but to the blond kid, he’d probably never even considered it.

“D-d-don’t don’t don’t haveanothershirtthatsnotinmygymlocker and and I can’t I can’t go back in there,” blondie said as if he couldn’t get a constant talking speed going through all the mixed signals his brain was sending him.

“I have another shirt,” Connor said, “and it's in my real locker. Think you can walk there so we can go get it?”

“Whyisitinyournormallockerifitsyournormalshirt?” he asked, looking up in the general direction of Connor’s face for the first time.

“Because it is,” Connor replied, not particularly feeling like going into the details with this kid he barely even knew, “C’mon, get up. The fast we do this the faster we can get back into gym class and they may not even know that we’re both missing.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs:  
> \- misgendering and deadnaming (Evan simply doesn't know)

Cora’s fame - or lack thereof - proceeded her. Evan remembered the printer fiasco in the second grade, the hammer thing in the fourth grade, a couple other assorted rage-fits, topped off with breaking her best friend’s nose on the second last day of school last year. They’d already had biology class together in the first hour, but she’d sat at the back and hadn’t shared when the teacher asked about their summer holidays.

Then gym had rolled around and he’d been forced into wearing the horrible gym shirts that the school forced everyone to wear or face detention. Evan hated the feeling of the shirt against his skin. It stuck to his back and itched his belly, and the static created the world’s worst feeling on his arms. Sure he’d cut the tags out of the shirt, but that didn’t change anything.

The gym was loud and crowded. Evan had managed to get changed while there were very few people in the changeroom, but that also meant that he was subjecting himself to being over fifteen minutes early for gym class. The jocks who’d somehow managed to get placed in the same gym class as him were playing a game of some kind with a basketball on the other side of the gym, but every rubbery slap the ball made on the floor of the gym was jarring. He couldn’t tell them to stop, but he hoped that sending well-timed glares in their direction would suffice.

He could feel the pressure in his head growing. Yeah, Evan knew the signs of sensory overload, but that didn’t mean he was an expert at actually dealing with the signals his brain was sending him. That, combined with his extreme case of crippling social anxiety, he wasn’t actually able to remove himself from an overstimulating setting because that would draw extra, unwanted attention towards himself.

But then the gym teacher blew his whistle and something snapped inside Evan’s head. He let out a shriek and bolted. There was no plan, no solution, no direction other than a mantra of _get the hell out of there_ playing over and over inside his head. So he ran. There was no particular path that he was set on, but running out of the gym seemed like the best solution to his problems. Then he could go hide and freak out in private, then go back to gym class and pretend that nothing had happened. Except for the fact that he’d made the whole gym stare at him.

He knew that the entire school thought he was an absolute weirdo. It wasn’t exactly an unknown fact that he couldn’t talk to anyone without stuttering, yelling, repeating himself or all of the above. It wasn’t uncommon for him to not make it all the way through the lunch line because he couldn’t stomach the idea of having to pay for his food and try to interact with the lady standing there. Screaming in the middle of gym class was decidedly not the weirdest thing Evan had ever managed to do during a school day, but probably in the top three.

The washroom had seemed to be like a good place to go hide and calm down, and, due to the stupid rule that you have to wait fifteen minutes into class before you were allowed to go for a washroom break, it was guaranteed to be empty. Evan managed to make it a solid three steps into the washroom before his legs were shaking too much to even keep himself up any longer and he collapsed down the wall. In any other frame of mind, he would have been freaking out a little that he was sitting on the disgusting washroom floor, but that really matter right now.

He didn’t realize that someone had followed him until he felt someone touch his knee. Looking up and managing to stutter something out about not touching him, he saw that it was Cora Murphy. It didn’t quite cross his mind that Cora had just followed him into the men's washroom so much so as the thought of _someone followed me_. Tugging at his shirt to get it away from his body, he’d muttered half-comprehensible answers to the questions Cora had asked him. _Why_ , exactly, Cora was suddenly such a different person, Evan didn’t know, but she’d just suggested that they go to her locker so he could change into a different shirt and then go back to gym class. And Evan had agreed. For all Evan knew, she was going to flip on him and like, murder him, or something.

As they walked through the halls of the school in silence, Evan picked at the hem of his gym shirt with one hand and chewed on his fingernails with the other. _What are you doing you idiot? Why are you letting Cora lend you one of her shirts? Its gonna be a girl's shirt and then your gonna be teased for the rest of eternity. Maybe you could wear it underneath your gym strip and then you could go back to the gym. But then everyone will laugh and make fun of you and that's exactly what you want on the first day of school, right? Too bad, its definitely happening already, whether or not you hear it, may as well hear it. No, that's not better in any way._

“Do you want to change or not?” Cora said and that was when Evan realized that they had stopped at a locker - which was now opened up and she was holding out a dark green tee-shirt in his direction. Oh yeah. Getting changed.

“Uh...y-y-y-y-yessurepleasethankyouCora,” Evan managed to force out before immediately wanting to smack himself. _C’mon Evan, get it together man._

“Are you going to change here or back in the washroom?” Cora asked as if Evan couldn’t think the process of changing through himself. Well. He really couldn’t. Not right now, at least.

“I-i-i-in the w-w-washr-r-room,” Evan replied and mentally checked his map of the school in an attempt to find the closest washroom to where they currently were. Which would be a lot easier had he not zoned out the entire walk to Cora’s locker.

“Well, it's over there. I can’t...I can’t come in with you again, think you’ll be fine?” Cora asked, arms crossing over her chest. To Evan, she almost sounded a little...sad maybe? He wasn’t entirely sure, it was hard to pinpoint the emotion. He’d never been good with emotions.

“I’llbefine,” Evan said and scooted off towards the washroom. The green shirt felt soft in his hands. It was actually a really nice material. He didn’t know if there was a decal on the front - he really didn’t like the feeling of decals, but it would be better than the horrible gym shirt. The shirt was inside out as if Cora hadn’t turned it right-side-in after taking it off. Evan scowled at the material in his hands. Why was he seriously planning on wearing the school freak’s shirt?

_It was a girl's shirt. Was he seriously going to wear a girl’s shirt? Do you have any other choice, Evan? Or do you want to wear your gym strip for the rest of the day - because there's no way in hell that you’re going back into the gym to get your real clothes after that fiasco? Besides, it's dark green. That's a boy colour. C’mon you dumbass, there is no such thing as a girl colour or a boy colour. To the bullies, there is though. DO YOU HAVE ANY OTHER CHOICE_ _? No. Not at all. Go get changed Evan, its not a big deal._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, any time that there are italics used in Evan's parts, its Evan's brain talking to himself, and/or his thoughts.
> 
> Also, I suppose I should mention this - Connor isn't out to anyone yet. Not at school, nothing. So yes, Evan is calling him by the wrong pronouns and by the wrong name, but that's because Connor hasn't come out yet, not because Evan is an ass.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs:  
> \- mentions of smoking pot

For the record, Connor didn’t mean to be a bad influence on the blond kid. But he was not planning on going back to gym class and had only mentioned going back so that the kid wouldn’t get in trouble for skipping. He figured that the school likely knew about these behaviors and he would get excused for being a little late. Connor, on the other hand, would have no excuse and get detention either way. May as well make the detention worth it.

The blond kid came back from the washroom, awkwardly holding the gym shirt in his hand, as if the material had personally offended him in some way. To him, he probably felt like it was offending him. Connor snorted a little but tried to keep a neutral face because the last thing he wanted was to spook him and have to try to start the whole calming down process again.

“T-t-t-thanksfortheshirt,” the blond kid said as he got within earshot again.

“No problem. Just, bring it to school with you tomorrow,” Connor replied before asking, ''You gonna go back to gym class now? Don’t wanna get in trouble.”

“Iwasgoingtogotostudentservicesactually,” he said so fast Connor barely caught it. Oh yeah, student services existed. Down on the first floor beside the office, where kids with mental or physical disabilities would go. Connor didn’t particularly know what they did once they got there, but it made sense that the blond kid would want to go there. Probably seemed safe to him.

“By the way,” Connor said, “I don’t know your name.”

“Evan Hansen,” blondie - Evan - replied. So far, it was the only time Connor had heard him say something without stuttering, yelling or speed talking. It was a nice change.

“Cora Murphy,” Connor replied while trying to desperately not grind his teeth. _That was not his fucking name._

“I-I-I knew t-t-t-that,” Evan said, back to his previous stuttering ways before looking at the ground and saying, “thatwasweirdI’msorryIshouldgonow.”

“Okay,” Connor replied, not really wanting to keep up the conversation any longer anyways. Turning back to his locker, Connor pulled out his jacket and bag. If he was going to skip, he was going to skip properly.

“W-w-w-wait,” Evan said, “w-w-w-where a-a-are are are you g-g-g-going?”

“Outside. I’ll get detention if I go back to gym class, so may as well make the time worth it,” Connor explained, “probably just gonna go sit out in the backfield under the trees or something.”

“C-c-c-can I comewithyou?” Evan asked, his eyes suddenly lighting up. It was like it was a different person all of the sudden.

“C’mon dude, are you trying to get detention too?” Connor asked.

“I-i-i-if if if you d-d-don’twantmetocomeIdon’thaveto,” Evan replied and suddenly the spark of life was gone again. Connor wanted to see it again. He didn’t know why he was so intrigued by making it come back, but he was and if going to go sit under some trees would bring it back, it was worth having some company.

“I don’t mind,” Connor said shrugging, “You can come if you want.”

It was still decently warm outside as they snuck out of the school, Evan silently following Connor as he led the two of them through the halls, carefully avoiding the security cameras. Thankfully, the weather had yet to change to actual fall weather and even the breeze was warm. He didn’t particularly like the outdoors anymore, but Connor still had enough of a brain to recognize a pleasant day when one rolled along.

“It's nice out,” Connor muttered, shoving his hand into the pocket of his coat and feeling the joint that he’d put in there the day before. _Just in case._ Connor didn’t like smoking, never really had, but he did like how it quieted his mind and numbed him to all his emotions that seemed to never shut up. But the worst was coming down off his high. He’d become violent, angry and belligerent. Yeah, Connor knew that that wasn’t an excuse nor an explanation for the majority of his actions, but it was for some.

“Thetreesaren’tchangingcoloryet,” Evan muttered as they crossed the track and headed towards the picnic tables behind the student parking lot.

Connor huffed out a breath and looked up at the trees. Yup, they were still green.

“DidyouknowthatthereareroughlynightydifferentkindsofoaktreesintheUS?” Evan said, suddenly very loud. It almost startled Connor, but he didn’t flinch or make any indication that he had been spooked. Because that would have probably spooked Evan and he really didn’t want a repeat of what he saw in the washroom.

“Pardon?” Connor asked, because he really hadn’t heard what Evan had shouted as it just all came out way too fast and all at once.

“I-i-i-its okay. N-n-n-n-nothing nothing i-i-i-important,” Evan said and it was like someone had flipped a switch inside his head and suddenly the yelling and rambling was gone, only to be replaced with stuttering.

“Obviously important enough you wanted to tell me about it,” Connor reasoned.

“Y-y-you you you really w-w-w-wanted to to to hear about t-t-trees?” Evan asked as if he didn’t believe Connor. As if he was being baited.

“I promise. And if I get bored, I’ll tell you,” Connor promised. He knew he’d get bored of tree facts in no time flat, but Evan didn’t need to know that. Connor just wanted to be outside and not in gym class. It just so happened that he had a tag-along that seemed to like trees.

“There are roughly ninety different kinds of oak trees in the continental United States. But all ninety kinds all have the same type of lobate margins in their leaves, so, that's how you can tell if a tree is an oak just by looking,” Evan said. That was the longest sentence he’d managed to get across like a “normal” person. Connor refrained from snorting.

“So what kind of tree is that?” Connor asked as they approached the picnic tables. He pointed at the tall tree towering over them.

“ _Quercus montana_ ,” Evan said and when Connor gave him a questioning look, he added, “commonly known as the Chestnut Oak.”

“So you like trees?” Connor said then wanted to promptly smack himself for the idiotic question. Of course Evan liked trees.

"Mhmm,” Evan affirmed, “I think they’re really cool because they’re such complex organisms that essentially caused our existence and are keeping us alive, and yet no one really takes the time to learn about them in any way.”

And damn if that wasn’t philosophical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, one more chapter left to go for this story. I'm thinking of turning it into a series of sorts, so we'll see how far it'll go :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs:  
> \- smoking pot

Evan hadn’t meant to skip class but only regretted it after it had happened. He’d heard Cora mention trees and his brain had promptly turned off. How dare anyone be allowed to go outside without supervision and go to look at trees and he wasn’t invited. Maybe Cora liked trees too. He doubted it, but she was a lot nicer than people said she was.

Then he’d opened his mouth and let a tree fact fall out. It wasn’t entirely intentional, but once it was out there, it couldn’t be taken back. And he’d shouted it. The shouting thing had started over the summer as a supposed fix for the stuttering. The louder he said something, the less stuttering there was, but it seemed that his brain had taken that to mean, the louder the better and that was simply not effective. Yelling at people didn’t help the fact that everyone thought he was a loser. He was supposed to be trying to make friends.

Then Cora had asked, “So you like trees?” and Evan’s brain just about short-circuited. Not just that she’d let him spend a significant amount of time telling her about the type of tree they were sitting under, but that she had encouraged it. _Or had she encouraged it? Was he misreading the statement? Had he missed the sarcasm? It was entirely possible._ But, luckily, Evan had managed to formulate a reasonably cohesive sentence as a reply. He seemed to be able to speak without stuttering perfectly fine while dumping useless information on unsuspecting listeners. Usually, it happened to either his mom or Jared, but never to anyone else. He supposed that Cora was just extremely unlucky.

“Do you talk to everyone like this or just me?” Cora asked once Evan’s tree rant was dying down. He’d simply exhausted his talking skills. There was much more tree knowledge kicking around inside his head, it was just getting slowly locked away behind its barriers again.

“Like, t-t-t-the s-s-s-stutter, or or or or t-t-the y-y-yelling, or or the speed t-t-talking?” Evan asked, his stutter coming back at full force.

“No. I know you do that other stuff to everyone. But it all went away when you started about the trees,” Cora said, laying back onto the bench on her side of the picnic table. All Evan could see now was one bare knee poked out above the wood.

“I know,” Evan whispered, looking down at his fingernails. They were red, jagged and bloody from where he had been chewing and picking at them all day. He had a sudden urge to chew on them again.

Then he saw a puff of smoke rise from Cora’s side of the park bench and followed by the smell of a skunk. Evan didn’t particularly lead a sheltered childhood. Growing up in the apartment building he had, Evan understood what pot smells like. He’d caught whiffs of it and had asked his mother if someone had hit a skunk with their car. She’d told him the truth about what it was. Safer to know that to be caught off guard, she’d explained. So those rumours were true too. Cora was actually a stoner. But she was being so nice to Evan. Why couldn’t she be both a stoner and nice? Obviously not impossible since the evidence was currently laying on the picnic bench.

“W-w-w-whydoyousmoke?” Evan asked, the question falling out of his mouth before he had the chance to stop it.

“Because it turns my brain off,” Cora replied before blowing a plume of smoke up into the air, “I’m fairly sure you know what that feels like.”

Evan grunted out a noise that he was fairly certain sounded affirmative. He would never try smoking though. For the most part, his anxiety meds calmed him down enough to stop the never-ending jitters and slowed his brain down a little. But that didn’t mean he liked it. Being slowed down wasn’t exactly a good thing and he did like how easily he could learn or repeat facts. He could solve complex logic problems on his own, but the meds slowed him down and made him sluggish. Sure, it was effective for going to bed but sucked at literally any other time.

“Why do you shake your hands around?” Cora asked.

“S-s-s-side a-affect of of of ASD,” Evan replied. When he saw Cora’s head poking up above the table and give him a confused look, he realized that she had no idea what ASD stood for. Not many people did. It was a fairly new definition to be used and most people expected to hear either Autism or Aspergers.

“A-a-a-autismspectrumdisorder,” Evan spit out. He remembered when he was little when he’d first got the diagnosis. That and the anxiety one. The way his father had reacted. The way his father left. He had a freak for a child. It definitely did not help build his confidence at all.

“New name for it then,” Cora muttered before asking, “Do you like to flap your hands around or does it just happen?”

“Ican’treallycontrolit,” Evan replied, “Butmybrainlikesit.”

“Huh. Interesting,” Cora said, puffing more smoke out. Evan watched it as it swirled up into the tree above them.

“D-d-d-d-do do do you s-s-skip c-c-class often?” Evan asked. As much as he hated to admit it, he’d actually been enjoying their time sitting outside and not being nailed by balls in gym class. Because that was all that ever happened. He always got too nervous to run-up to the line to grab a ball but was too scared to hit someone with the ball he’d picked up because that drew attention to himself and often ended up freezing. Then someone noticed and promptly would nail him with a ball. Now that they were in high school, they used real dodgeballs in class and those hurt more than the foam ones.

“If I don’t like the class, I’m not going to go,” Cora replied, “Why waste time sitting in a building when I could be out here?”

“F-f-f-f-fair p-p-point,” Evan said. There were so many times that he simply just didn’t want to go to class because he knew the teacher was going to have a substitute, or because they were going to have to do a group discussion. But Evan had ever actually gone through with it. Until today. And the thought made his stomach contort.

_You’ll be sent to detention, which was for an hour after school. Then you’ll miss mom if she’s at home. Or she’ll have to come to pick you up late once you get released from detention and she’ll be mad. Mrs. Shelley at Student Services will be mad at you too, because you're supposed to go talk to her when you get anxious in class instead of running away. Too late now you idiot._

“Yo, Evan, relax dude,” he heard Cora say, “You’re breathing real fast again.”

“I’mfine,” Evan replied, “Webettergobackinsidebeforewemissfifthhour.”

“Yeah, we better,” Cora agreed, snuffing the joint out under the toe of her blue gym shoe and standing up off the bench, “C’mon then.”

Evan followed her back towards the school when Cora turned and looked back at him and asked, “Same time tomorrow?”

Against Evan’s better judgement, he replied, “Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go that's the end of this instalment! I have some ideas for another one, so hopefully, it'll show up soon! Until then, stay safe everyone :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thus story takes place one year before Dear Evan Hansen starts. I figured that since they're friends beforehand, it needed a decent amount of time to get to know each other.


End file.
